Drabbles, drabbles, drabbles
by PlainJaneDoe
Summary: Anything from making cheese sandwiches, Teen AU's, puppies... Whatever you fancy really. John/Sherlock
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello there :) This is where I'm going to stick my random drabbles based on random word generated words or prompts. Any prompts: send them my way, I could do with keeping busy whilst I faff about with T&R. These will be completely random, cracky, funny, maybe a little explicit at times, but we'll see. Here's my first anyway. Love you guys.**

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><p><strong>Ratio.<strong>

"Nope."

John released a short disgruntled sound as the knife in his hand began to tremble, "What now?"

"Too much cheese."

John huffed as he began to maliciously remove cheese, each throw punctuated by a slightly more audible grumbled word.

"No, no, no, wait. Now there's not _enough _cheese. If there isn't enough cheese then the ketchup will make the bread soggy."

John turned to stare at the detective incredulously. The detective that had taken up root standing just behind him, chin on his shoulder and scrutinising his sandwich making skills with the same interest and attention he usually paid the corpses in the morgue.

"You're a pain in the fucking arse. Why ask me to make you a sandwich if I can't do it right?"

"You _can_ do it right, John," Sherlock sighed, folding his arms and shuffling the rest of his body forward in line with his chin, his elbows now gently resting against John's back, "You just have to have _patience. _It's all about getting the right cheese to ketchup ratio. Science, if you will."

"Hmph, 'science'," John scowled, "If I wanted to be a sandwich scientist I'd work at Subway."

"Subway employees are not 'Sandwich Scientists', John. They're not worthy of such a title. The way they throw around marinara sauce like it's bloody-"

"Yeah, alright, that's quite enough of that for one day," John grumbled, taking each individual grating of cheese out of the tub and adding it to the bare bread, lining each strand up so as to provide a crude ketchup barrier.

"Well, now you're just being silly."

John stared ahead, his mouth set in a thin line but his eyebrows drawn down into an angry squiggle.

Sherlock sighed over his shoulder, "Like this," he said finally, awkwardly manoeuvring his arms around John's so that his palms were resting on top of John's hands, ready to play puppet master to the makings of his lunch.

"Right, now…" he began, putting the lightest of pressures on John's fingers until he was awkwardly picking up clusters of grated cheese, "Then over here…" John simply watched bewildered as Sherlock began to pile almost exactly the same amount of cheese John had put there in the first place.

"Bu-" John spluttered.

"Shh, thinking," Sherlock mumbled, taking in a sharp breath of contemplation, the air dragging over John's ear as he did so before his long exhale whistled down his ear.

"You're making a bloody sandwich, what's there to think about?"

Sherlock grumbled, his manoeuvring becoming more aggressive as he moved onto the ketchup part of his cheese and ketchup sandwich.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, John," he mumbled, tightening John's fingers around the ketchup tub and delicately squeezing near perfect blobs of red evenly spaced along the sea of yellow, "Now, so that we don't get soggy patches, we need another _very light _dusting of cheese."

"Wow, with culinary skills like these, I'm surprised you didn't pack in being a consulting detective years ago to become a Michelin starred chef instead."

John could practically _feel _Sherlock's eyes rolling behind him as his ungraciously thrust John's fist back into the cheese tub.

"All this over a fucking sandwich you won't even bloody eat."

Sherlock pointedly ignored him as he carefully sprinkled another thin layer of cheese over his creation before slapping the slice of bread on top and finally letting go of John's hands.

"Right, perfect, wonderful, job well done, the creepiest session of teamwork we've ever taken part in," John drawled, picking the knife back up to cut Sherlock's sandwich in half.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sherlock suddenly bellowed down John's ear, "You don't just cut it in half! You have to squash it first."

"Oh for the love of…"

"John," Sherlock said quietly, "Just this one last thing John, then I, Sherlock Holmes promise you, John Watson, that I will eat that whole sandwich in one sitting."

"Even the crusts?"

"Even the crusts."

John thought on this for a moment before he felt long fingers back in control of his again.

"This is the best part!" Sherlock chirruped gleefully before pressing John's hands on top of the sandwich they had both spent the past 30 minutes making, practically whimpering with excitement at the resulting squelch.

The minute the sandwich was squished to a sufficient standard, Sherlock practically dived on it, scooping it up and taking a massive bite, complete with pleasured groan.

"Mmff mmm gddd," Sherlock mumbled through sandwich-y teeth "_This_is Sandwich Science, John. Perfection," he said as he strode out of the room taking another bite.


	2. Chapter 2

**TEEN!AU. This is something that will (hopefully, maybe, hopefully) one day be included in an awesome AU!Teen fic me and my super duper BFF are writin'. So... It's a bit random and I wasn't going to publish it but I was FORCED so ENJOY.**

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><p><strong>Gladstone.<strong>

"Guess what."

Sherlock already knew.

"You go-"

"No, no, ask questions! Don't just guess, you have to guess! But also with questions."

Sherlock rolled onto his side to be met with wide brown eyes and the biggest grin he'd seen John wearing since… Well, last night actually…

"I never guess."

"Well, you're going to now so shut up and GUESS."

Well, only a crazy person would say no to that face…

"OK, is it-"

"WE GOT A PUPPY!"

Sherlock blinked, "You didn't even give me chance to guess…"

"I was too excited to wait," John sniffed sheepishly with a nibble of his lip before pressing on with renewed excitement "A puppy, though. A PUPPY! AND HE'S SO CUTE!"

Sherlock scowled noticeably. Puppies were _not _cute as far as he was concerned "Yes, John. A puppy. Well done, what's it called?"

"GUESS!"

Sherlock waited exactly 10 seconds before opening his mouth.

"I-"

"I inadvertently named him after a chemist," John interrupted, now practically vibrating on the bed next to him.

"Alright, chemist, got you. Is-"

"But I originally named him after a cricketer," John then continued.

This time, Sherlock waited exactly _20 _seconds before opening his mouth.

"OK, well-"

"And his name seemed perfect because-" at this point, John was seen to actually _swallow back a giggle_, "He's S_mall._"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Alright, I think I know."

"That was _very _quick!" John gushed with a wriggle.

"Well, you were hardly stingy with your clues, you know. I think I need to teach you how guessing games actually work because-"

"GLADSTONE! After Gladstone Small. But also, accidentally after William Ewart Gladstone… The chemist… Gladstone Small is the cricketer, obviously…"

"Yes, obviously," Sherlock said with a cheeky smirk and a roll of his eyes.

"Wanna meet him?" John said, already getting up to leave the room.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Nope" John called over his shoulder.

Sherlock rolled back onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with his fingers laced together on his stomach, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine what sort of dog would suit John Watson. He didn't get in much thinking time, however, as the familiar squeak of John's bedroom door filled the room.

"That was quick, I've been thinking, and without opening my eyes, I'm going to guess that the breed of dog you have is-"

Sherlock froze. He could hear a prominent snuffling that definitely wasn't John Watson…

He slowly rolled onto his stomach and peered over the edge of the bed to see a wrinkly bulldog puppy sniffing at the hem of John's bedcovers, pawing it occasionally as if trying to figure out how to make it come down to his level.

"Hello there," Sherlock's sing-song tone surprised even himself as the puppy looked up and squinted at him, glad to finally see the person responsible for the very un-John scent in the room, "And already I can tell you're John Watson's dog. We've known each other less than a minute and you're interrupting my guessing like a pro."

The dog gave a high pitched woof in Sherlock's general direction before he began to manically circle the bed for a path up to the mattress, his whimpering becoming louder and louder as he failed to find a convenient puppy sized ramp.

"Oh come here, you daft git," Sherlock sighed, leaning down over the bed to scoop the pup up and drop him with a flump onto the pillow next to him, "There, now stop crying. Where's John got to? You're not a very good guard dog, are you? Running off and leaving him."

Gladstone, however, was uninterested in what Sherlock had to say, instead plodding down the bed, following the line of Sherlock's long legs to get to his feet, scrambling half-way over one ankle to sit lopsidedly across his legs and sniff his feet.

"Animals are so strange…" Sherlock muttered to himself, watching with increasing intrigue as the puppy tried to heave the rest of his body over Sherlock's leg, wriggling with escalating fervour until eventually Sherlock tilted his leg up and watched as Gladstone rolled over into a heap between his feet.

When Gladstone finally got his bearings, he let his tongue poke lazily out of his mouth before bounding up the bed to belly flop onto Sherlock's stomach. He wriggled on the spot for a moment before pulling his paws out from under him and shuffling up Sherlock's body until his muzzle was resting on Sherlock's chin.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock murmured, careful not to move his jaw too deliberately so as not to disturb the puppy resting his head on his chin.

Without very much warning at all Gladstone began lapping lazily at Sherlock's chin.

"You are disgusting," Sherlock said fondly as Gladstone yawned and nuzzled into his neck.

"Thanks, I don't think much of you either," John grinned from the door, arms folded and leaning against the frame, "I searched the whole house for him, but looks like he wanted to find you for himself."

"I think he found me," Sherlock said through frozen chin as Gladstone nuzzled further into the curve of his neck, rolling over onto his back and nudging at Sherlock's ear with his back paw, "John, this is getting a bit uncomfortable now."

John sniggered before crawling his way up the bed and nudging Gladstone back down to Sherlock's stomach, where he then rolled over to his stomach, pushing his tiny, wrinkled face into Sherlock's t-shirt and snuffling contentedly.

John stared at Sherlock smugly before curling into his side, running a finger up and down Gladstone's back.

"Told you he was cute," he sniffed, prodding Sherlock in the calf with his big toe.

"Whatever," Sherlock smiled, revelling in his new, second most-favoured hot water bottle.


End file.
